


See Right Through Me

by valiantlybold



Series: sing me a song [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Scent Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, geralt is totally in love but pretends he isnt because hes stupid, minor roleplaying???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Geralt discovers a new addition to Jaskier's wardrobe.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: sing me a song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603039
Comments: 25
Kudos: 1608





	See Right Through Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kolettshepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolettshepard/gifts).



> ayo ya girl still hasnt fuckin finished the showwwww

Geralt hates the smell of this town. It smells like every town that’s more than a handful of cobbled together cottages.

It just smells _too much._

Geralt should’ve just stayed _outside_ the city walls, where the smell is at least _tolerable._ He isn’t even sure why he’s there!

He just…

He picked up a contract in the smaller village he’s been staying in, a mile or so outside the city. And Jaskier has left for the city that morning, before Geralt got the contract, with the intent of finding a gig to earn them some coin. And… Um.

Geralt will need coin. Until he can finish the contract. That’s it. That’s the _only_ reason he’s being an idiot and chasing after that damn bard. He just needs the coin.

Even in the flurry of smells, Jaskier is easy to track. He’s been hanging off Geralt’s coattails for long enough that its almost impossible for the Witcher to mistake the scent. He follows it through the city. It weaves in and out of taverns and pubs and inns with no discernible pattern; he’s making the rounds, playing wherever he can to scrape together some good coin. Hm, they might be able to buy rooms in a decent inn for the night.

He reaches the end of the trail, at a brothel. The scent very clearly enters the building but has not yet left again. He’s in there somewhere.

It’s hard to track the bard once Geralt goes inside. There are too many people giving off too many smells, and a nauseating amount of perfume. Everyone seems _occupied_ enough that they hardly notice a Witcher among them.

Geralt goes to the bar, waving down the smiling maid behind it.

“What’ll it be, Witcher?” she says, smiling still. “A drink or a girl? Or maybe both will suit ya better!”

“Just the ale,” he says.

He slides a coin across the bar to her. She laughs and snatches it up, then all but skips away. A moment later, she returns and places a brimming tankard before him.

“I’m looking for a bard,” he tells her. “Goes by the name Jaskier. Carries a lute. Seen him?”

“Oh, yeah! Made a deal with the madam, he did! Think he’s just about to play, lucky you!” she says and points across the room.

There is a small stage there, currently empty. Geralt settles in to wait. He’s already bought his ale and God’s know he’d have to physically _drag_ Jaskier out of here if he tried to get the bard to leave before even his first song.

Soon enough, the crowd is roused into applause by someone, welcoming the bard to the stage. The curtain is thrown back and Jaskier greets the world with open arms.

Geralt does _not_ choke on his ale. Not at all. He’s just...surprised. That’s all. Who wouldn’t be, when seeing what that idiot bard is wearing?

He wears some fancy black britches, gilded embroidery shining in the low light. [His shirt,](https://66.media.tumblr.com/013c9a4a5acc69082b7fed60967e4943/tumblr_messaging_q3ystspmxH1qe4obk_540.jpg) though, can _hardly_ be called a shirt. It is made of sheer fabric, allowing anyone and everyone to see every inch of his pale skin.

Geralt stares. Someone in the crowd whistles at Jaskier, who laughs and winks in return.

Geralt doesn’t listen to any of the songs he plays.

All Geralt finds himself able to do, is watch the bard.

He watches pale skin ripple with every motion, enticing and entrancing.

He wonders what Jaskier’s skin would taste like through that shirt, how it would feel under his hands.

An ugly green little monster sits on Geralt’s shoulder; it whispers to him and its words sound so true. _How dare he wear something like that in front of all these people? How dare he flaunt himself like this, pretending he doesn’t already belong to someone? He belongs to Geralt, he is Geralt’s little lark and no one else is allowed to lay their hands or their eyes on him!_

Geralt has to try very hard not to crush the tankard in his hand.

He watches Jaskier leave the stage, disappearing behind the curtain again. He calls the barmaid over and bribes her with a few coins to make her tell him how to get to the performer’s dressing room.

He can hear Jaskier still strumming his lute and humming a tune as he approaches the dressing room hidden behind the stage. Geralt throws the door open, which makes Jaskier jump, and slams it quickly again behind himself. He throws the latch to make sure they’re not disturbed.

“Geralt! You are _determined_ to scare me to death one of these days, aren’t you?!” Jaskier yammers on. “What are you even doing here, I told you I’d meet you back in the village by tomorrow!”

A growl hums through Geralt’s chest. He crosses the small room with long strides. He can’t even hear what Jaskier is saying anymore, even as Geralt backs him against the vanity. One hand closes tightly around Jaskier’s arm, the other a little looser around his neck. Geralt breathes him in.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier stutters, still managing to smirk. “I-I-I had no idea watching me play had such an effect on you, dear Witcher.”

Geralt growls. Jaskier’s lute clatters as he blindly sets it down on the vanity. His hands find their place on Geralt’s body. One hand wraps tightly around Geralt’s wrist as the Witcher’s thumb caresses the bard’s fragile throat. The other rests on Geralt’s side, clinging to his armor.

Geralt leans in, pressing his body to Jaskier’s, nosing up his neck.

“What did you think was going to happen when you decided to wear shirt like this, little lark?”

Jaskier’s heart pounds out a rapid rhythm. He whimpers, clinging tighter to the Witcher.

“Flaunting yourself like this, in _a brothel_ of all places,” Geralt continues. “Hoping someone would mistake you for one of _the whores?_ Is that it, sweet songbird?”

He nips at the bards skin, sharp teeth making him whine again. Jaskier shuffles. He manages to sit himself up on the vanity. His legs wrap around Geralt’s hips, pulling him in. The stink of lust drowns the room. He can feel, against his thigh, how hard Jaskier is becoming. Not that Geralt himself is far behind. The more he breathes in of Jaskier’s sticky, sweet lust-scent, the closer he gets to _painfully hard._

“Then again, a bard is barely more than one step up from a whore, don’t you think?” Geralt teases.

Jaskier moans when Geralt begins to rut against him, stimulating them both only so very little.

“Instead of sex, you’re paid for songs. But you wouldn’t mind if it were the other way around, would you?” the Witcher carries on, breathing hard against Jaskier’s neck. “All you want is for someone to pay for your time and attention, don’t you? _Hm,_ well, little lark, _I_ have a few coins left in my purse, so how about it? Care to earn some honest coin?”

Jaskier’s legs tighten around Geralt, begging him for more, as his long, slender fingers tangle in the Witcher’s hair.

“G-Geralt,” he pants against the man’s ear. “P-Please, I-”

“Is that a yes, lark of mine?”

Jaskier lets out a reedy cry, a confirmation despite no words being used.

Geralt steps back, pulling out of Jaskier’s desperate holds. Before the bard can whine about it, though, Geralt tugs him down from his seat on the vanity too. With harsh, rough motions, he drags Jaskier’s britches down to his thighs and turns him around. Jaskier does not appear to mind. He only bends himself over the vanity and pants against the mirror.

The Witcher pulls his gloves off, throwing them aside, no care for where they land, and undoes his own britches. It’s a momentary relief when he can free his cock. From one of the small pouches on his belt, he draws a vial of oil. Jaskier has been sneaking them into Geralt’s back for ages now, _just in case_ of a situation like this one. Suppose Geralt should thank him for the fore-thought.

 _“Geralt,”_ the bard moans. “Come on, Witcher, are you going to waste your time talking? Haven’t got all night for you, darling, got customers lining up around the block for me, don’t you know?”

Geralt almost crushes the vial in his hand, another possessive, jealous growl leaving him, as the bard only laughs at him. He pops the cork loose with his thumb then drizzles the liquid across his hands and cock, too caught in the rush of the moment to take it slow.

Jaskier clutches at the vanity as Geralt presses two fingers inside him. Geralt leans over him, finally able to find out the answer to one of his earlier questions. The bards skin somehow tastes even more perfect through the sheer fabric. He mouths at his back, kissing and licking and tasting as much skin as he can reach. He fingers the bard quickly, deftly, seeking only to open him, ready him, not to give too much pleasure just yet.

“I could take a _thousand_ contracts, kill a _million_ monsters, and you still wouldn’t be pleased, would you?” he speaks into the bard’s back, nipping at him, making him whimper and whine for more. “You’d always come crawling for another couple coins, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I would!” Jaskier cries, playing along so beautifully as he melts in Geralt’s hands. “Faster, Witcher!”

The Witcher does not obey.

Instead, he brings his free hand down across Jaskier’s ass-cheek, making the bard cry out once more. _Fuck,_ his voice is always pretty, but _nothing_ can beat the way it sounds during sex, and Geralt _adores_ every time he gets to be the one who makes Jaskier sound that way. Another finger slips inside him without resistance.

“But you’re probably enough of a _cock_ _-_ _hungry slut_ that I could just fuck you stupid and walk out without paying, and you wouldn’t even mind at all. You’re pleased enough just taking a proper cock for once, aren’t you?”

Jaskier moans against the mirror, watching Geralts reflection hulking over him. "Yes! Ah! Yes, Geralt!"

Geralt loves reducing Jaskier to this; removing all his intelligent banter, stripping him down to nothing but _begging_ for Geralt.

The Witcher removes his fingers finally. He grabs at Jaskier again, turns him back around, lifts him easily up onto the vanity again. Jaskier kicks his legs at his boots and britches, struggling to get free. Geralt rips the britches off him, quite literally. The fabric tears loudly, spilling to the floor. Jaskier appears to not have it in him to complain about it at the moment. Instead, he wraps himself around Geralt, drawing him in, catching him in a kiss.

Blindly, Geralt strokes his own cock, spreading the oil, slicking him. He find home in Jaskier without hesitation. He bottoms himself out swiftly, buried deep inside his bard.

The bard moans into the kiss, grabbing desperately at the Witcher’s hair for some semblance of grounding. The way his body arches and dips, leaning into Geralt, is beautiful. A work of art come to life in the Witcher’s hand.

“Make you mine,” he growls, mouth trailing down the bards neck once more. “Keep you for myself.”

The bard pants, chest heaving against Geralt’s own. “Come on, Witcher!” he eggs on. “Payin’ for your time, so you better make it count.”

Geralt can’t help the deep, angry growl that rips through him. He takes a tight hold on the bard’s hips and begins to move. He fucks into Jaskier deep and hard; the vanity grinds against the floor and the wall, rattling at every motion. Jaskier’s head tips back with a breathy moan as he claws at the back of Geralt’s neck. With one hand on the vanity, he pushes back against the Witcher, meeting his thrusts.

The feel of him drives Geralt wild. It always does. He always loses half his mind in between Jaskier’s soft, smooth thighs, leaves it behind inside the bard’s sweet warmth.

“Should take you with me,” Geralt mutters against that perfect, beautiful throat, driving as deep inside this lithe body as he can. “Keep you tied up on my horse, have you whenever I feel like it, have you _wherever_ I feel like it.”

Jaskier claws at his armor, a desperate cry leaving him, legs wrapping tighter around the Witcher. _“Yes!_ Take me! Take me with you, Witcher,” he replies.

Fuck, there are no words for the way he feels around Geralt; the way his perfect body folds for Geralt, how he melts against him and how his softness smooths out every single one of Geralt’s sharp edges.

The lust burns like hellfire in his gut, wrapping tighter around him with every one of Jaskier’s little moans and pants and cries. Witcher stamina is far superior to human, he knows, but he _can’t_ do this much longer. Jaskier saps it out of him. Like a succubus, he eats up everything left in Geralt’s old body, but _shit,_ he can never say no to _this,_ to Jaskier like this, to _them_ like this, to them _together_.

“Come inside me, Witcher,” Jaskier moans. “Let me feel you inside me…”

And Gods, Jaskier has learned _all_ the ways to push Geralt’s buttons, to work him up, to get him losing even more of himself.

He hooks his arm under Jaskier’s knee, pulling the leg up, pushing him to lean further back across the vanity, deepening every thrust. His other hand runs down Jaskier’s chest, caressing his skin through that damnable shirt that Geralt won’t be able to stop thinking about for a _long_ time. Jaskier moans and swears, telling Geralt again and again to _fuck me harder, come on, more, harder, fuck me._

“Come for me, sweet lark,” Geralt orders him brusquely. “Show me what a good whore you are!”

Geralt doesn’t even have to touch that pretty little cock for Jaskier to erupt, beautiful ropes of white landing across his own chest, his back arching like a work of art, his body going impossibly tight around the Witcher’s cock. It only takes him another handful of thrusts before he is doing as the bard had asked, the orgasm crashing into Geralt with the force of a mountain collapsing on top of him as he spilled inside him.

Seldom seen serenity filled the small chamber, along with their chorus of heavy breaths.

It seemed like neither of them quite had the strength to move, at least for a little while.

“I take it, you like my new shirt,” Jaskier said between breaths, then glanced down at himself. “Though, I think we may sadly have already ruined it.”

Geralt gently lowers Jaskier’s leg, unhooking his arm from under it, stroking up his thigh instead. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

Jaskier laughs, and Geralt finds himself smiling too.

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://66.media.tumblr.com/013c9a4a5acc69082b7fed60967e4943/tumblr_messaging_q3ystspmxH1qe4obk_540.jpg) is the shirt jaskiers wearing because i say so and because kolett is a well of kinky inspiration


End file.
